My heart jumps in my chest.
What is this awful thing I’m feeling when he looks at me? Fear? Attraction? Both?
Shit, whatever it is, it’s not good.
His gaze drifts to my lips, almost caressing them; then his nose flares as if he’s angry.
I fight the urge to run out the back door of the bar.
“Me,” he says darkly, answering my question earlier to Brody, the one I’d already forgotten about. “Remember?”
A long breath comes from me as I cling to the edge of the bar.
This is impossible, yet there he is.
I swallow thickly. “G is for Graham. I get it now.” Now that he’s shaved and has trimmed his hair, I recall seeing his photos in the media. I must have been blind at the motel, but he’s the kind of person you’d never expect to see at a place like the Golden Iguana.
“It’s getting hot in here,” Brody murmurs as he fans himself, his eyes flicking from my face to Graham’s as he twists to get a view of both of us. Cas chuckles, but I’m barely registering the people around me.
He sits on the stool next to Brody and straightens his collar, then leans in until his muscled forearms are on the bar. I see a peek of tattoos, a flock of birds that disappear up his arm. The name Hazel is written in script around his wrist. I hadn’t noticed it at the motel, but then I wasn’t completely myself then.
The overhead light glints off his raven hair, giving it golden highlights. The loose curls soften his jawline. He twists the Rolex on his wrist. “Give me a Blanton’s, neat.”
I whip around to the whiskey shelf, my hands shaking as I pull the bottle down. Usually I’d make the drink in front of customers, but I don’t, instead grabbing a glass and pouring it with my back to him.
Mason slides in next to me. “What the hell is up with you and Graham Harlan?”
“Nothing.” I wince, darting my eyes at Mason, then away. “Okay. I accidentally stole his car.”
He rears back. “What? How? Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because I feel terrible. I’m a thief, ugh. I haven’t told anyone,” I mutter. “But he hasn’t called the police yet. I think. I don’t know. He sent a note by messenger to the bookstore. Why is he in my bar? How is he Brody’s brother and I never knew? What are the chances? Am I losing my mind? Is he still there?” My brain darts in a thousand directions.
He glances back and scrubs his jawline. “Yes. Sorry. Do you want me to toss him out?”
Ugh. I wish. “No.” He sent the note. Obviously, he wants something.
He glances at him again, his voice lowered. “He’s looking at you like he’s going to eat you for dinner. Did you have sex with him?”
I watch in the mirror as a blush sneaks up my face. I might have thought about having sex with him. “No.”
He whistles under his breath. “Emmy, he’s rich as shit, and his dad is a powerful man. Be careful.”
“Who’s his dad?”
“Big-time lawyer, old money.”
A lawyer! Hello, jail cell.
I finish making the whiskey and slide a napkin under Graham’s glass as I set it down in front of him. He barely notices. A pretty young redhead in a tight black dress has taken the stool next to him, and they’re engrossed in conversation.
Brody catches my hand, his face earnest as I glare at him. “Ah, don’t be mad at me, Emmy. He was going to find you one way or another. I thought this would be neutral ground for a second meet-cute.”
I pull away. “Are you kidding me? There’s nothing romantic about me and your brother. There was no first meet-cute.”
His eyes gleam. “Be patient. Magic takes time. Especially with my brother. Go easy on him, yeah? He hasn’t had the easiest road.”
What? Hell no.
“What do you mean?” I ask a few moments later, my curiosity urging me on. “What happened to him?”
Brody leans in. “He needs magic, Emmy. More than anyone I know.”
I shake my head and move on to make more drinks. I’m not buying anything Brody says.
Time crawls by as Graham orders a drink for the redhead, an espresso martini, then goes back to her. She asks for a photo of them, and he poses for a selfie, his face aloof. She flirts, even going so far as to dance her fingers down his arm. He barely even speaks, just nods or shakes his head while she talks. Seething, I turn away. He’s torturing me, biding his time until I’m a nervous wreck.
“You should break them apart,” Brody whispers in a conspiratorial tone.
I point at him with a stir stick. “You. Stop. And not on your life. Maybe she’ll soften him up.”
“She won’t,” he murmurs. “And I did my best to talk him out of this plan. Even today, I told him to let it all go, and I’ll figure out the money side of things on my own, but once he makes up his mind about someone . . .”
I have no idea what he’s rambling about.
“Another whiskey” comes from Graham, and I ignore him and mix a lemon drop.
“You okay down there? Need help?” Mason asks me.
“I’m good,” I say, watching as Graham locks eyes with him, then comes right back to me. He arches one of his straight black eyebrows as if to say, Hello? My drink?
Uh-huh. He used the eyebrow at the motel. It says more than he does. It’s a smart-ass, know-it-all eyebrow.
Huffing, I make the whiskey, then slam it down in front of him.
The redhead gives me a rude look, then sparkles up at him with a winsome smile as I linger to eavesdrop. She tells him she’s headed out to a club and invites him to go with her and her friends.
Go, Graham. Have fun. Forget about me.
I audibly groan when he tells her he can’t, that he has business to handle at the bar. Without a prompting from him, she writes her number on a napkin and gives it to him. With one last adoring look and a kiss to his cheek, she sashays away and out the door. He crumples the napkin in his hands, then drains his whiskey.
“Can we talk?” I ask him, my voice quiet.
“Oh yes,” he says in a dark tone.
“Mason, I’m due a break,” I call out to him. “Fifteen minutes, okay?”
Mason gives Graham a steely once-over. “Sure, Emmy. Want me to go with you?”
“No,” I say.
“She’s fine with me,” Graham says, his tone curt.
Mason holds my eyes. “Yell out if you need me.”
Graham stands to follow me as I walk around the bar and head to the exit outside. Pushing the door open, I look around, half expecting blue lights and sirens.
Brody’s voice calls after us. “Be sweet, guys.”
The wind whips my hair as thunder rumbles in the distance, a late-spring storm brewing in the air. Fitting. Face the storm you’ve made, I tell myself as I duck under the overhead canopy next door to the bar to wait for him.